camp SHIPS WITH HOLES WILL SINK ↷ [ CHILLEDSTAR'S VIGIL ]

[smogstar]

There isn't a fitting label for what'd just happened. Not any label available to Smogmaw, at the very least. It wasn't a meeting, nor did it take even half the time meetings normally would. There had not been any agenda. He didn't speak with anyone beforehand to iron out an outline, to collect everyone's input, to reach some consensus first before any official announcement. Precedent eluded him all the while; what processions and rituals followed Pitchstar's final death so many seasons ago, and for Briarstar before him? It's all a blur.

No label, but Smogmaw recognizes immediately the gravity a leader's death holds. Dragging Chilledstar back to camp and telling all the listening ears that there'd be a vigil and their leader's remains should be groomed and prepared. Hardly a meeting in any capacity. But it was nonetheless a singular event etched permanently into Clan history, done before an audience in the safety and openness only camp could supply. When the crowd dispersed, and queens and other volunteers took to tending Chilledstar's body, Smogmaw shuffled alone into the leader den and sealed himself inside.

Only briefly.

The tom took to gathering the various rocks Chilledstar collected over the moons. Mementos, he presumes, an emotional weight to each likely far exceeding Smogmaw's personal understanding. Chilledstar rarely bared such sentiments in his company, if ever at all, and the deputy didn't pry. In his expression the severity diminishes some; his eyes remain impartial but there's less apathy. Silly little things like rock-collecting, habits kept tucked aside, remind him that the cat in whose body rests now was someone first, before anything else. Someone who laughed, or felt anger, or saw worth in keeping plain rocks around.

Less selfishly-absorbed in his future standing, the tom carefully makes several trips carting the collection outside. Settling each with care at Chilledstar's forepaws, placing them methodically, paying special attention as to keep them separate as the departed feline would prefer. Every trip, every rock placed, they were looking more dignified, worthy and deserving. Mockingbirdcry, Loomingpaw, and the other volunteers had tidied them up so well that Smogmaw wore more of their blood on his pelt than they did. A fitting detail. Smogmaw nods, once, stepping away.

Just barely, the moon eclipses its highest peak. It's moonhigh. Time now to begin the vigil and share tongues with their fallen leader, for the very last time. He shirks his voice, allowing instead the crowd to form on its own volition. Mourners, wistful in spirit, congregate in silence or in hushed, fleeting whispers to each other. Smogmaw doesn't have to motion anyone forward with a paw or tail-flick or even tap an apprentice's shoulder to urge them forth. As is instinctive to them, everyone occupies their respected spots.

"I'll begin." Smogmaw breaks the momentary calmness and meets none's gaze when it flicks up. Breath steady, expression set on their late leader, he tucks his tail firmly into place. "In its short history, our clan had never known an era as enduring, as successful and steady, as the moons when Chilledstar stood tall on Clanrock and upheld their rank as leader. ShadowClan owes too much to Chilledstar. It owes its resilience. Its growth. Its survival through harrowing times, like the Yellowcough plague, or when bears'd driven us from our camp. They protected us. Steered us. Strengthened us. And loved us, I think."

Words, monotonous initially, blossom with a mild vigor he didn't prepare. Emotions coming along far more unexpectedly than he'd intended, too. Stark contrast from the stiffness earlier delivering the news they'd passed. His tongue remains level, but his ears swerve back ever slightly, blinking slower now as Smogmaw's head dips low in their direction.

"It is safe to say that their guidance is all some of our younger clanmates have ever known." Any cat under the age of sixteen or seventeen moons may attest to the same. "And I will say myself, too—my esteem for this clan hasn't been stronger than during the moons they sat leader." Smogmaw takes a pause, long, breathing out deeply through his nostrils. He glances at the clan as if the vulnerability started to cripple him. Then his resolve reappears and he raises his voice again. "To their memory. With my words spoken, I will sit silently alongside them. I invite everyone to do the same. It is fitting we reserve tonight wholly for Chilledstar. Chilledstar... thank you."

Nodding again. Eyes closing a heartbeat before the tom settles back down onto his haunches, and lowers himself entirely onto the dessicated camp floor. ​

 

[MARBLEPAW]

It's moonhigh. Silver bathes the camp, silhouetting the shadow of Chilledstar's body with spiderweb-thin silk. Marblepaw sits amongst her Clanmates, her body wrenched and strained with the grief she cannot hold onto. Her eyes are dry, now, as Smogmaw speaks from his perch, as he begins Chilledstar's vigil. They speak of guidance, and Marblepaw knows perfectly well what he means. Guidance. You guided me when I needed it most. Fresh tears threaten to blur their vision, but she suppresses the urge to cry again.

After Smogmaw finishes speaking, Marblepaw creeps forward on hesitant paws. Chilledstar's body is stiff already, scented with crushed flowers. The fur is unyielding and cold when she presses her nose into it. Shakily, she inhales that scent for the final time.

"I'll never give up the rock you let me have," she mews, fierce as only a child can be. "I'll keep it forever, even when I'm an old medicine cat. I'll never forget what you've taught me. And..."

A single sliver of liquid slips from one eye. She presses it into Chilledstar's dark pelt. "I'll see you again." Of this, at least, she can be certain. She has seen Siltcloud in StarClan—she knows, now, that she will see Chilledstar as well.

『 out of character. 』 ✧･ﾟ:* 『 about. 』

• ooc: —
• 
• Marblekit . Marblepaw, she/they w/ feminine and non-gendered terms.
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — 6 moons old, ages realistically on the 1st.
  — mentored by Starlingheart ; mentoring n/a ; previously mentored n/a
  — shadowclan medicine cat apprentice, formerly a rogue. siltcloud x lilacfur, gen 3.
  — currently mated to n/a.
  — penned by Marquette.
  
  
  sh fawn tabby with dull green eyes. courageous, curious, introspective, observant, judgmental, snarky.
  
  

​

 

[Wormwatcher]

✧*:.｡. Wormwatcher watches Smogmaw’s meticulous organization of Chilledstar’s collection of trinkets around themselves. Wormwatcher feels his throat constrict at the deeply tender display of respect for the fallen leader, a beautiful way of honoring the body’s demise. He swallows back the emotion welling inside himself and he purses his lips, his maw scrunching up as he attempts to conceal his emotion. Smogmaw invites the clan forward to sit in vigil together and bid farewell to Chilledstar. Wormwatcher is reluctant to visit the fallen leader, plagued by his own postulations towards death. He lingers in his spot as mourners stagger forward to murmur farewell or choose a closer spot to remain in until the vigil concludes.
In the multitude of moments since Smogmaw returned to camp with the broken body of Chilledstar, Wormwatcher has watched from the outskirts as the reality of the situation settles. He watched with odd engrossment as Chilledstar’s body was prepared for the vigil, under the direction of Mockingbirdcry. He watched the diligent cleansing of crimson from the coat of the deceased, the thoughtful masking of death-scent, the grooming of fur in an attempt to camouflage the wounds. He was intrigued by the care that was afforded to the body, as if it were not a broken, hollow thing. He wondered, wherever they may be, if Chilledstar would appreciate this gesture or find it to be a waste of time, as obviously the vessel served no purpose now.
Presently, Wormwatcher would not pretend to know what happens when you die and would question the legitimacy of an afterlife. He merely wishes that whatever may be his downfall will be followed with silence, a sweet relief from the chaos of the present. But now, he must admit that he is scared to rise, put one paw in front of another and settle closer to the remains. Although not someone he spoke to often, or frankly at all, his entire life gravitates around the will of Chilledstar’s- his rulings, his guidance. Wormwatcher dedicated himself to his doctrines, a willing servant towards the betterment of the clan. Sure– he could see Chilledstar was not perfect, for example; that most recent…outburst… at the last gathering– but maybe that was what made Chilledstar so… potent to Wormwatcher. He willed himself to move, but something within himself resisted and so he remained, sitting stoically, where he would remain until Smogmaw would dismiss the vigil or until his eyes were pulled away from their far-off gaze upon the body.

✧*:.｡. ~ aren’t i enough? ~

• ooc
  
• wormwatcher —— ✧*:.｡.shadowclan warrior, he/him, homosexual, 29 ☾

​

 

[shriketalon]

Underneath the apex of the moon sits Shriketalon, midnight pelt leaning against the sturdy build of @HOLLOWMASK . Head hung low as they stare holes into the marshland below, not daring to look up and be confronted with the now cold leader's body wrapped in silken web. Their throat hoarse from the brunt of their grief and wallowing passing by earlier when their friend had delivered the news. Now under the glistening silver of the moon above they weren’t sure how to feel, there's a numbness that's settled. There was conflict residing in them as they listened to Smogmaw's words, speaking of their guidance and their strength through their endurance. That conflict only deepened listening to Marblepaw. Speaking of the rock they gave her and once again that guidance that they carried is brought up.

The realisation that Shriketalon didn’t really know Chilledstar wasn’t anything new and yet the realisation that they never would constricted their throat further. The crushing weight of guilt choking their breath like a pissed off adder. Time was a finite resource that one would never be aware that they were running out of but maybe if they just understood that then they wouldn't have wasted those initial moons being so angry with them. They were fortunate enough that their last interaction was on a high note, despite the circumstances surrounding it. A phantom ache from their torn ear is a reminder of those circumstances but in some twisted way they were thankful to have a physical reminder of that time with Chilledstar. Even if their memory tarnished with age their body would carry the reminder and that was enough of a comfort.

They finally will themself to look up from the ground. They make no effort to approach the leader, the two of them were not affectionate in life so they wouldn't delude themself in trying to be now. “I didn't know Chilledstar well but from what I do know about them they carried care with them. Even I could see that they cared a lot for everyone here.” They clear their throat, trying to shake the gravel sitting heavy on their tone like tar. Ears pin back as they force themself to finish their thought “I could have been denied the opportunity to join this clan. Myself and my siblings. They didn't though, we were given a chance. They showed me how to hunt like a shadowclanner, and gave guidance on more than that.” Even if the guidance was appreciated, they still recall that tense argument in the leader's den surrounding the topic of their father.

A bitter bile sits within them and they can't help but clear their throat once again. “They were kind, in their own way. And insightful. Even if I didn't know them long I'll never forget them” a silence falls over them again as they curl their tail around themself again. Shriketalon wasn't sure if this was the way a vigil is supposed to go, they hadn't been to one before now. They were never going to be a tradionalist though, they could however be respectful so they silently listened to whoever spoke afterwards.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ooc ⤜ Love lies bleeding ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

• 
  

• 

• SHRIKETALON || They/them, Warrior of ShadowClan, 29 moons
  ✧ A long haired black feline with low white spotting and hazel eyes. A small tear marks their right ear.
  ✧ Mentored by Nectarsong | Mentoring N/A
  ✧ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted ⭃ underline and tag when attacking.
  ✧ penned by Juice ⭃ Ouijeejuice on discord, feel free to dm for plots.
  

​

 

[HOLLOWMASK]

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ- There's a prominent weight against her shoulder and side as Shriketalon leans into her for comfort in their grief, yet her face never wavers from it's stoic stillness. Her lips are drawn into a thin line, dull golden eyes watching as the body of Chilledstar is prepared for their vigil. It was a beautiful vigil, one that showed care and love throughout. She watches from the corner of her eyes as her parents say their goodbyes to the leader, pupils narrowed into slits.

She doesn't have any words to say- she had been a faithful follower and soldier to Chilledstar, but she feels no grief over the death of them. Death was unavoidable for some, especially for leaders whom were gifted with so many extra lives to spare. They had lived fully for their Clan, however, and for that.. A twinkle of respect glimmers in her eye for a moment before they return to their dull glow.

Hollowmask lets her tail rest over Shriketalon's spine, a faux show of comfort for the other as they sit in silence. A possessiveness in her posture, her towering body much taller than Shrike's own. Her tongue wets her bottom lip, eyes watching everyone joining with intense curiosity.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎┌── はるか遠い遠い昔　巻かれた首輪 ⋅❁⋅ 人が欲しい人が欲しいと叫ぶ　呪いの首輪 ──┐‎

• 
  

• 

• 
  HOLLOWMASK ✩ she/her, warrior of shadowclan, thirty moons.
  ⭃ big, bulky body that stands at 10in, with long, wild and spiky fur. gives off eerie vibes despite oftentimes seen smiling.
  ⭃ no close friends // dislikes nobody // no mate, no children.
  ⭃ will kill / will not show mercy / will rarely flee
  ⭃ [DANGER!!] this character is cunning, manipulative, sadistic, and controlling yet hiding under a friendly guise. please proceed with caution when interacting with her. ic opinions/actions are ic only.
  ⭃ attempts at healing is permitted, peaceful powerplay is permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ⭃ penned by @icaria ↛ @icariarests on discord, feel free to dm for plots.
  

​

 

[lilacfur]

It wasn't what she expected to come back to.

Chilledstar had served as ShadowClan's leader longer than any other, taken the title and grown into it alongside the rest of ShadowClan as they blossomed from a group of marshland rogues to a proper Clan.

Could I have stopped this? She wondered as her shoulder rest against Starlinghearts, keeping her injured paw close to her side as she half-stepped across the clearing, and to the eerily still form of Chilledstar.

Lilacfur had seen the dead plenty before, she had seen Chilledstar dead just as many times but there was always the crackling anticipation that followed. Today, however, there was none. She can only sense the sad acceptance that this was it, their final rest.

"Thank you." She spoke hoarsely to her sister as they paused behind Marblepaw. Marblepaw, who Lilacfur had instilled to trust in their leader as she had with her son. The leader she had relied on so frequently for help navigating their tumultuous beginnings to ShadowClan, surprising herself in how close they had come from it.

There were no words Lilacfur had prepared for this- the moment always felt impossibly far away. A citrine gaze lifted to see the expression torn in Smogmaw's face, looking to him for an inkling of guidance.

Acceptance.

Then that's what she would do.

---

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎┌── ooc ⋆⋅☾⋅⋆ info ──┐‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

• 
  
  

• 

• LILACFUR ✩ she/her, 22 moons, mother to marblepaw and sycamorepaw
  ⭃ lh lilac rosette with yellow eyes (carrying cinnamon, solid), a torn left ear, missing her left eye and most fur from a multitude of claw-marked scars
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking ↛ see battle info here
  ⭃ penned by this loser ↛ @gonkpilled on discord, feel free to dm for plots.
  

​

 

[ONYXPAW]

I WISH YOU COULD SEE THE WICKED TRUTH — The reality of the situation felt more like a fantasy, for once. Or, more accurately, like a horrible nightmare. When Smogmaw and the rest of Chilledstar's last patrol had returned, Onyxpaw initially hadn't thought anything of the dour expressions on their faces. A certain coldness wasn't unfamiliar for Shadowclan as a whole, and the thought of another death to deal with felt too heavy for her to confront on her own. The brush of Yellowpaw's pelt against hers at the time had been the only thing to ground her when those words had slipped forth from Mirepurr's muzzle, the burst of pain that had rushed through her chest in response nearly enough to send her sprawling to the ground.

She and Chilledstar had never been close - she had confided in Smogmaw more than the leader in the past - but that didn't mean she wanted them dead. That didn't mean she had wanted Shadowclan to lose their leader and their guidance, to lose the familiar pelt of shadows that had led them through the hardest times imaginable. Would they even have survived the sting of Granitepelt's betrayal, if not for the firm presence of Chilledstar to guide them?

In that moment, she hadn't been able to confront the truth of the situation. Onyxpaw had turned and fled into the safety of the apprentices' den, tears stinging her crystal blue gaze as she had hunched down in the darkness. The sobs that had left her then had been violent, so engulfed by sudden grief that she had no idea of how to deal with. Though loss had struck her home before, it had never been like this. It had never been so all-consuming. Her parents had never prepared her for this, the loss of her siblings so distant and fuzzy that she had never had to confront it.

Unlike that faraway memory, Chilledstar was here. Their body was in front of her, pelt draped in the scent of mint and carefully encircled by the prizes of their life. Their lives, all snatched away.

Timid steps brought her forward, closer to their fallen leader's corpse even as every instinct imaginable told her to run. Dart out of camp and never return, because then she could pretend Chilledstar and the rest were just waiting for her. Instead she forced herself into place, glancing around for any kind of comfort. Any sign of Yellowpaw, or Snowpaw, or even Singepaw. Someone she knew would understand her, even as her words came out soft and strained. "Th... Thank you, Chilledstar." It was all she could think of to start off with, neck stretching so that her nose could press lightly to their fur - before recoiling at the cold that greeted her. "I wish... you could have gone out more peacefully." In their sleep, surrounded by family. Not torn apart by the vicious jaws of a beast bearing down on them.

Just thinking about it brought a lump to her throat, fresh tears welling up in her eyes as she twisted around to bury her face into the nearest familiar pelt that lingered nearby. She could apologize for the display later, when she felt less like the air had been snatched violently from her lungs.

CAUGHT UP IN A RUSH ✦ IT IS KILLING YOU

• 

• 
  ✧ shorthaired tortoiseshell point and chocolate point chimera with blue eyes
  ✧ 10 moons old; ages the 1st every month
  ✧ bisexual; crushing on yellowpaw
  ✧ daughter of monarchroot and sleetjaw
  ✧ shadowclan born; silently loyal to her home
  ✧ difficult to befriend; shy to most except yellowpaw
  ✧ "speech", thoughts, attacking
  ✧ peaceful powerplay allowed

​

 

[MIRESTAR]

✦

How did they get here?

It is a question with dual answers thanks to its vagueness. Mirepurr only remembers the events following that horrible reveal in flashes, all blurring together and falling out of place in their grief-stricken memory. The shock had only intensified with the weight of having to carry such news to camp; it is an honor, yes, having been bestowed such a duty by Smogmaw... but Mirepurr knows now that they will never forget the exact moment they stopped before ShadowClan to shatter everything for them.

The other answer is this: Mirepurr had not prepared for Chilledstar's death. It is an inevitability that comes the moment you are born — and with how quickly their lives have been stripped from them, every single one of them more painful than the last, it really shouldn't have caught them this off-guard.

While volunteers prepared Chilledstar's body for the vigil, Mirepurr had allowed themself to take a trip down memory lane to remember the leaders before them. It almost feels inappropriate to think the late ShadowClan leader had been the most influential — the most resilient one, at the very least. Briarstar's sacrifice had made a great impact on young Mirepurr, and Pitchstar was supposed to help the Clan regain its stability after the loss of a founder... only to succumb to a traitor too soon.

Chilledstar had always held on against all odds.

"I think," Mirepurr begins, voice shaky, when there's a lull in the air. They hadn't even attempted to cut in line; did not watch closely to see which of their Clanmates were going next, didn't jump on the opportunity to talk. It feels... difficult. They manage not to cry now, but there's something tight in their throat, stuck and unwilling to get out. "Chilledstar was the best leader we could ask for."

Smogmaw had said they loved them all- he thinks. There is no doubt about it in Mirepurr's mind. Chilledstar never allowed themself a moment of respite, wholly apathetic about their own endeavors but more than willing to care about others'. It was almost akin to unconditional love... the fiery affection a parent would feel for their children.

That's what ShadowClan was to them, in a way.

Still is, Mirepurr reminds themself. Their head does not move, only their eyes, as they shift their focus from the ground to the glittering sky. They are watching over us; forever and always.

There is so much they want to say, to ramble on until dawn threatens to break, to talk until their mouth is too dry to form another word. But their throat remains stubborn and the emotion stuck there does not budge- instead, Mirepurr settles for gratitude. "Thank you, Chilledstar."
​

 

[mockingbirdcry]

The taste of copper lingers on her tongue; as given over as ShadowClanners may be to going out like comets, crashing to earth with a trail of blood, she suspects the taste of it will always be slightly unfamiliar in that small, trite sort of way. Tufts of grave - herbs cling to her pelt, the dressings of death in soft tones of purple and green, their scent damn near cloying in a re - emphasis of the slight funeral odor that always clung to a lilac - gilded pelt. Not that it bothers her, exactly; a mortician by happenstance, she finds herself suiting the job rather well; never has she besmirched a fresh corpse with salt - spray tears or sobs into lifeless fur.

It's half a lack; lack of attachment to the indistinguishable assembly line of bodies, lack of interest in a body no longer animated by a unique soul, lack of grief at yet another bullet - hole peppered into the sad saloon wall of their Clan. The other half is indefinable, even to her, but she cares little for introspection, and certainly not now as she rejoins the flock of mindless pelts around a lavender - strewn corpse. The tides of the Clan shift underpaw as dunes of desert sand, and it would not do to be lost in the listless mirage of thought when there are so much more interesting things in action.

She sits in what appears to be a pensive silence as Smogmaw carries on; one of his usual listing proclamations that she admires for their expert use of a silver tongue, if not much else. The deputy ( leader? a secret third thing? ) has proven his mettle when it comes to observation of the Clan's politics, and though Mockingbirdcry is always willing to make up some courtesy, it would take more than that to earn genuine respect; still, she dips her head in a manufactured sort of recognition, both to the unmoving body before them all and the tabby tom making his dry - voiced eulogy.

He is not wholly incorrect, in her opinion; as one who lived through three leaders from the darkness of the nursery, Chilledstar certainly managed to balance being efficient and entertaining. Acts such as slapping another leader on the Great Rock and regularly hosting arguments on the very same provided excellent conversational fodder for one ever - clawing against the barrier between herself and the political sphere. Conversely, they'd guided ShadowClan through an era of relative prosperity, although the brief reigns of their predecessors—though with equally bloody endings, and wasn't that funny?—hardly made difficult records to beat.

Smogmaw finally completes his spiel and settles his not - insignificant weight onto the oft - abused camp floor, but not before inviting forth further comments from other grieving Clanmates. A lack of attachment, both to each tear - stained face and the greater misguided flock, makes judgement easier than ever . . . it is not that she finds her Clanmates distasteful, but rather the visibility of their obvious grief . . . it's uncomfortable, really. Inviting a further vulnerability from the group appears to unleash some sort of floodgates, and dark lashes coast low over chestnut eyes in an approximation of grief, distaste carefully hidden.

The ferocity of Marblepaw's childish grief is nearly endearing, and certainly a pleasant interim from the soggy sorrow of the adults . . . it's moments like this that practically justify her permanent relegation to the nursery, and bolster the decision she's so given over to questioning. Wormwatcher's blessed silence is not preserved by his compatriots, though she must admit some degree of admiration for the concise nature of Shriketalon's speech . . . though she fears she might never understand the seemingly constant compulsion of others to voice their feelings and thus subject everyone in the vicinity to them.

A dark gaze flicks with some interest to a consoling Hollowmask, and then obediently back towards the well - groomed body. She notes with some satisfaction that what remains of Chilledstar is clean of blood, fur smoothed over brutal wounds, well - perfumed with herbs to conceal the stench of copper . . . in her tenure as a queen, she's grown her own experience in the process, and thus become an exacting director of her Clanmates when they choose to assist. Lilacfur, too, is blessedly concise, and Onyxpaw equally brief in a way she can appreciate . . . this is how one ought to handle such swelling emotions, in a private venting of them through whatever actions one deemed necessary ( or, ideally, their complete containment ) and a mere smattering of words in public . . . although perhaps with less tears than the apprentice made use of.

Mirepurr's gratitude is short and sweet, and they inch upwards in the vast climb to Mockingbirdcry's esteem . . . then again, Smogmaw had probably talked enough for them all. Lacking any closeness to the deceased, and herself bearing the transferred and unwelcome odor of copper, she elects to remain in the crowd gathered around the body rather than make use of any empty sentiments herself. They had performed their job adequately, and she presumes they knew she thought that—if from nothing else than a lack of obvious critique, and surely they can know it from the stars without any rambling on.

OOC : —

♡

​

 

[FORESTSHADE]

Forestshade sits tall next to Chilledstar’s body, her expression solemn as her clanmates’ voices rise around her. Unseeing eyes are narrowed slightly, a heavy grief settling within them as she shuffles forward to let her paws touch their cold fur. What is there to say now? Can they even hear her? Ears pricked, she angles her muzzle down to press her nose briefly against their pelt before pulling away, never one for much affection. But she can try.

“You believed in me from the start,” She mews, voice husky with emotion. “Even when I annoyed you. Even when I pushed you. You never stopped supporting me. I don’t…” She sighs, her head hanging. I don’t know how to do this without you. Chilledstar faced every challenge head-on; it’s what she respected most about them. Their strength, their determination…what would ShadowClan be without that now? Would Smogmaw be capable of taking on such a mantle?

Chilledstar’s final words echo in her ears and tears threaten to one again spill. She squeezes her eyes shut and sits in silence the rest of the vigil. We will carry on. We will be strong for you, Chilledstar. Thank you for everything. ​

 

[BASILPAW]

Hah!, this was funny, real hilarious really!. Chilledstar had pulled the biggest joke on them all!. Pretending to be dead. That was a real classic one. Not really Chilledstar's style. It hadn't seem like their leader even had one funny bone in their body!. But he guess he had have all wrong. Anytime now for sure Chilledstar would jump up and laugh at all of their faces. After all it was not like Chilledstar actually could die. So many times they had and rose from the grave they had every single time so there was no way....anytime now. Basilpaw waited, patiendly as he stared at the body while everyone else cried and mourned. But not Basilpaw because hah! he was smarter then that, not easily fooled like the rest of them. He was ready to laugh at Chilledstar that they couldn't trick the trickster of the clan!. Haha, no way!. This mischief thing had become his new thing, and he couldn't wait to show Chilledstar one of his newest pranks he had come up with.

So why weren't they getting up?.

How long could it actually take?. Basilpaw had waited, and was still waiting and waiting and waiting but nothing. No trace of life. Not even one movement from the lifeless body. Come on Chilledstar!, this is not funny anymore!. A prank shouldn't take this long...He stared at the body that refused to move. Slowly, the reality started to kick in, the one he had denied and refused to accept. Once it did...something inside just cracked.

Chilledstar wouldn't come back no more. They where gone, just like Crawlingheart. Aha, this was not funny anymore. Once he fully accepted it the truth a wide grin painfully spread across his face. After all that was all he knew. The perfect weapon to use. Basilpaw clenched his teeth tightly together as he took a step back to retreat from the scene. His mentor and leader was gone, they had left him just like he always knew they would do.

Basilpaw turned to leave, refusing to take part anymore of this sickly atmosphere. Chilledstar was happy he was sure up there, thrilled even to no longer having to deal with him. They where free from the burden of having to deal someone like him.

Tears slowly fell once shadows had swollowed the grey.



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